


Hold Me Close So That I Do Not Float Away

by Calacious



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adult Language, Confessions of love, First Kiss, M/M, Mentions of intent to violate but no actual violation, Out of Body Experiences, Pollen Poison, Pre-Slash, Repetition, Sequel, Truth Serum, rambling thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 05:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11799468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: Lance was poisoned by the pollen of a giant flower. While under the influence of the pollen, he makes a confession that he wishes he hadn't made.





	Hold Me Close So That I Do Not Float Away

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Nature's Cloying Embrace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11721525) by [Calacious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious). 



> Written in response to those who indicated that they wanted to read what happened to Lance while under the influence of the pollen in Nature's Cloying Embrace. I hope that this does not disappoint. 
> 
> Please forgive any errors.

His body's on fire, and there's an itch beneath his skin. He can't reach it to scratch it, there's something holding his hands, keeping his fingers from reaching the all over itch that's consuming him.

It's hard to breathe, and all he wants to do is... fuck, or be fucked... preferably by Shiro, but, in his current state of mind, Lance thinks that anyone, or  _ anything _ , will do.

"Fuck." Lance's lips feel numb, his tongue thick. "Shiro. Need."

He remembers a flower. Remembers how it held and squeezed him. Made him breathless, and dizzy, and how it stole his vision, made it tunnel until all he could see were its colorful veins. Pink and yellow. 

Pink and yellow.

"Pink." Lance's head is floating, his blood boiling. "Tongue me."

Laughter. Tinkling. The leaves of the flowers rubbing against each other, like two bodies, slick with sweat. Shiro would be beautiful in sex; mouth twisted, body straining above his, heart pounding.

_ Pollen poison.  _ The words come to him from far away, and Lance isn't sure if they're in his head, or if someone has spoken them aloud. Maybe even himself.  _ Pollen poison? _

"Poison." Lance's heart is exploding. Every beat of it is, Shiro, Shiro, Shiro. "Shiro, take me."

_ It poisons the blood, makes the host delirious and open to suggestion. Leaves them vulnerable, and loosens their inhibitions. Makes it easier for the flowers to manipulate and copulate. _

More laughter. Harsh. Pulled from the lungs against their will. A bark of sound that hurts.

_ Copulate. _ A pretty word to go along with the pretty, dangerous, man-fucking-eating flowers. He'd been held by one. He remembers.

Pink and yellow. 

Like the ribbon on a dress, or in a head of golden curls.

_ Makes the one infected have a loose tongue. Say things that are kept hidden. Tell secrets. _

"I love you, Shiro." Lance's brain is filled with tiny red ants that march through the grooves, their feet loud as thunder. Their bite is poison. Their bite is truth.

‘Truth serum,’ Lance thinks. ‘Spill the beans. Spill Shiro -- eyes soft, smiling when no one is looking, handsome, want.’

Truth serum is, mures hturt, backwards. It is not a palindrome, not like a flower by any other name that would smell as sweet. 

Shakespeare in the park. 

Flowers. 

Long-stemmed. 

Ripping. 

Tearing. 

Lifting. 

Held aloft in arms like the velvety leaf of a flower. 

Shiro's arms are muscular, strong, home.

Gigantic flowers are too sweet, too suffocating in their grip. Cloying. Cruel.

"Touch me."

Lance's body is dancing in electricity. It hurts. He needs to be grounded. He needs to be pinned down. Held. Not like the flower held him, like Shiro would hold him. Arms strong, but not too tight.

Lance wants to be sick. Maybe he is. The earth is wet. His mouth is filled with dirt. He can smell the copper of blood. Can smell Shiro. Musky sweat. Heady. Heaven. He can breathe.

He feels a hand on his chest. Wonders if it is a leaf. Green. Strong. Filled with sinewy veins that carry water like lifeblood, and hold him tight enough to strangle the life from him.

‘There are three suns on this world.’ Lance remembers. ‘Maybe that's why it's so hot.’ 

It's not a dream. The flowers. Shiro's voice, commanding, demanding, promising, and then gone.

He wants...needs... Lance needs...something. Needs something inside of him, pulsing, pushing, moving, filling. Needs Shiro.

"Shiro." The name is torn from him, leaving his throat bloody. "I, please, please, Shiro. Please, I need you. I, I love you."

Lost in darkness and fever, Lance floats. Hears words tumble over and around him like bubbles that pop, pop, pop, with words like music.

He sees himself from above, lying on the ground, head cradled in Shiro's lap. There's an old man, wrinkled, grey skin gathering in folds around him like a Sharpei, his voice is calm, matter-of-fact, unconcerned.

Lance laughs, the sound echoes in his head. He's down on the ground, back arching, and then sinking back to the earth, skin slick and flush with fever, and Shiro's holding him, and he can't even feel it, not really. He can't feel anything.

For a minute, maybe longer, Lance panics. Struggles to return to his body. It's too hot. It rejects him, shocks him. He can't reach it.

Shiro's fingers are in his hair. He wants to feel them, wants to feel Shiro.  _ Needs  _ to feel Shiro, but he can't. He can't get back into his body. It hurts. 

He feels nothing.

_ "Shh." _ The sound rushes in his head, and Lance stops struggling. Stops panicking. He looks around for the source of the voice. It is in the trees. Their leaves wink at him. They are old. Wise. More understanding and gentle than the flowers. 

_ "Listen. Watch. Learn."  _ The trees nod toward the scene playing out on the ground. 

Lance floats, watches himself, his head in Shiro's lap, the others gathered around the two of them.

‘Out of body experience,’ he thinks. 

Knows. 

Shiro's hand in his hair, on his chest, thumb stroking his cheek, is a tether keeping Lance close. He could float away. Could leave and never look back.

_ "Pay attention." _ the trees scold. 

Lance looks. Listens. Watches. Learns.

"What's happening to him?" Shiro asks, hand on Lance's chest, keeping him from rolling his face into the dirt. His voice sounds worried, and Lance's heart skips a beat.

"It is the pollen poisoning," their host, the wrinkled old man with the face of a Sharpei, says, head bowed. "Those who've managed to escape the giant flowers return to us like this."

"How long will it last?" Shiro asks. He cups Lance's face with his hand when Lance utters nonsense, and strokes his cheek with his thumb.

Lance wishes he could feel it. He hums to himself. The sound is caught by the wind and carried to the trees, they bid him to,  _ “Watch. Hear. Understand.” _

"A day, maybe more," their host says, wrinkles sagging as he shrugs. "It is hard to tell with those from outer planets. Usually --"

"They die in the sacrifice," Pidge bites out bitterly.

Lance's heart stops, starts. 

Sacrifice. 

Death.

Their host nods solemnly, eyes glittering, skin folds moving like silken rolls of fat. "Few are rescued from the forest of flowers. Few return to us unscathed. Your friend is lucky."

"Lucky?" Keith asks, voice filled with anger, hands reaching for his dagger clutching it with a white-knuckled grip. "You call  _ this _ lucky?" He gestures toward Lance’s prone form, face twisted with a look of disgust. 

Lance’s breaths are shallow, uneven. 

The trees voice their agreement, leaves bristling together in a sound like the wind. They do not like the ways of the flowers.

"It  _ could  _ be worse," their host says, voice quiet and stern, wrinkles folding in on each other. "Your friend could be dead, or he could be...violated."

Cold. 

Sweat soaks his collar. 

Heat fills his bones, melts them. 

Lance slams into his body for a heartbeat, remembering the stamen, remembering how it caressed him, remembering the moment when he knew, understood the flower’s intent, and how its grip was a death hold. The horror of it, and the blinding panic make him writhe, and he clutches at Shiro’s hand, feels fire burn through his veins.

And then he's floating. On the outside looking in once again.

Violated. The word should not be spoken so calmly, without inflection. Without a twisting of lips in disgust.

Hunk's face does twist with disgust, and grow red with anger, his hands hang in fists at his sides. "You talk about this as though it's no big deal, as though being, violated, is acceptable. It's not. It's wrong. You're a pervert  _ and _ a murderer."

There's a rush of sound in Lance's ears, in his mind, it drowns out his heartbeat for a moment, maybe two, and then it’s there, pounding, pounding, making him ache with the sound of it, the feel of the lava burning its way through his veins.

"I neither condone, nor condemn, what the gods of my planet do to her visitors," their host says, bowing deep, wrinkled brow resting against the damp earth. Pompous. Unconcerned. 

_ “Absolution. Denial,”   _ the trees whisper in disgust. They are appalled, not in agreement with the other ‘gods’ of their planet and how their people choose to worship, and sacrifice, to them.

Lance shivers, his body remains still, head turns toward the warmth of Shiro's hand.

"Shiro," Lance's voice is strained, needy, drawing the attention of his friends away from their unrepentant host. 

His body is writhing on the ground, sweat pouring and heat rolling off of him. Eyes closed, he twists and turns, body moving in a way that's sinuous and vulnerable.

Lance wishes he could look away. Wishes he could sink into the earth, or his body, so that he would not have to witness himself this way. He feels shame.

"Shiro, I...I..." Lance's voice trails off, and he leans into Shiro's touch when Shiro cups his much too warm face with his hand.

Lance holds his breath. Lets it out when he can feel his heartbeat in his head, throbbing in his vein. He can’t stop himself. Can’t keep his voice from divulging long kept secrets. 

"I love you," Lance whispers, desperate, moaning, body tensing and then stilling. "Need you, want you...please?" The words are whined, Lance begs.

His face heats up, and Lance tries, but fails, to look away from himself. He wants to return to his body, get it to stop revealing these things that he'd rather were kept hidden deep down inside of him where they belong.

"What?" Shiro asks, eyes searching Lance's flushed face as though he can find an answer there. Voice filled with something that Lance thinks might be interest, or intrigue, or something more. There is no revulsion.

"The boy speaks his true mind, uninhibited," their host says, wrinkles gathering around him like folded clothes. "Pollen poison has that effect. It will wear off in a few days. Maybe less. Depends on your species."

“Like truth serum?” Pidge asks.

Their host frowns, his wrinkles growing deeper. “I know not that word, but, it is the truth he speaks. What is hidden in his mind, and heart.”

Lance hopes his body burns through the poison quickly, that he doesn't humiliate himself any further. Shiro's mouth is quirked upward in a slight smile, his fingers are caressing Lance's hair. He can almost feel it.

"How do we help him?" Hunk asks.

"Make him comfortable. Give him what he wants," their host says, beady eyes squinting. "He will wake with or without memory of this when the poison is out of his system. It is the way of the poison. It is the way of our gods."

‘The way of their gods sucks,’ Lance thinks, and the thought is echoed aloud by Hunk. 

The trees laugh in agreement, and suddenly, Lance is no longer floating like a kite over his body. He slams back into it, hard, breath bursting out of him in a gush that has Shiro's face turning downward, hovering over his.

Lance's eyes fly open, and there's Shiro, above him, eyes searching his for something, and finding it as the look in them grows tender.

"Hey, there, Lance," Shiro says, voice soft, and husky, thumb caressing Lance's cheek in a way that makes him shiver. "You with us?"

"Kiss me," Lance breathes the words out like a prayer, face lifting, lips brushing against a startled Shiro's.

Upside down kisses aren't nearly as easy to perform as Spiderman makes them seem. They're awkward, and difficult, and Lance feels like a fool, even as the poison burns through him, scorches him, makes him writhe in a need so desperate that it's painful. 

He wonders if the others hadn’t been able to rescue him, if he’d be coming onto the flower, letting it do whatever it wanted to him, letting it violate him. 

He’s glad that he’s no longer with the flower. 

If Shiro doesn't do something to him, with him, then Lance is going to die. He just knows it.

"Hush, you're alright, you're not going to die," Shiro promises, petting Lance's hair, breath tickling Lance's cheek, his ear. "It's just the poison working its way through your system. You'll be okay."

"Promise?" He sounds like a little kid, needy, whiny. 

There's a press of lips on his forehead. Chapped. Warm. Promising.

Lance's eyelids feel heavy, and his limbs are weightless. He's floating, yet not. There's something solid beneath him, arms lifting him, holding him, carrying him away from their host whose skin falls off him in furry rolls.

"I promise," Shiro says.

Lance feels giddy, and his body tingles.

"Keep me?" Lance asks, sick with vulnerability and desire, wishing that he could sink into the earth, because his mouth is not cooperating, knowing that he doesn't want to, because the earth will eat him alive, and spit out his bones.

There's a chuckle, a rumble that moves through Lance like an earthquake, and he knows it's not the trees, full of wisdom. The only true gods on this planet, who do not take, but give. It’s Shiro. Shiro who is holding him close enough for Lance to feel his breath, his heartbeat, his laughter.

A thumb brushes across Lance's lips, and he opens his mouth, tries to capture it, fails. Lips follow, and then a gust of breath, the scent of Shiro, mint and sage.

"I think I'll keep you," Shiro whispers. "That is, if you still want me after this poison's worked itself out of your system."

Sighing, Lance rests his head against Shiro's chest, listens to the steady thump, thump, thump of his heartbeat, and lets it lull him into a state of almost sleep. The fire inside of him is subsiding, not burning quite as hot as it was before. He can breathe.

"Love you," Lance whispers on a sigh. "Always have. Too afraid to say it, because you're too good for me, and you have Keith," the words spill out of him of their own accord, and Lance is dizzy with the loss of them, the loss of one of his best kept secrets.

He should feel panic; he doesn't. Shiro's heartbeat skips, resumes its steady beat as though nothing has happened, as though Lance's words haven't freaked him out, as though maybe he kind of loves Lance, too.

Lance allows sleep to claim him then, safe and secure in Shiro's arms, and in the knowledge that, if he still wants him after the poison's gone, Shiro will keep him.


End file.
